The Present Future
by OKFan
Summary: "I too was drawn in by that glow. The glow of her sun kissed skin, her vibrant blue eyes, and golden locks; but stronger than those, was the glow of her heart." UK/Fem!US Student/Teacher AU
1. Her Death

**Pairing:** England/Fem!America

**Warnings:** Character death, human AU, student Arthur, teacher Fem!erica, almost no dialogue.

This AU is completely based off of my own head-canon, so it may seem a little OOC (especially on Fem!erica's part, she's a little more shy and insecure).

There will be three short chapters, the POV switching with each one. This one is Arthur's POV.

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><p><em><strong>Chapter One: Her Death<strong>_

I like you. I love you. Stay with me. Don't leave me. They're such simple three word sentences. So, why couldn't I say any of them? Why were they so hard to express? It's too late. She'll never hear them now. I'll never have another chance.

Being born, living, dying…they're all such amazing things. They're miracles. People tend to take them for granted. Why are we born? Why do we live? Why do we die? Everything happens for a reason, it isn't meaningless; it isn't for nothing. I don't think anyone really realizes the significance of life and death until they either experience a great loss of their own, or until they actually lose themselves to the unbeatable tide called destiny.

Even though I know this now, back then, while the two of us watched the clouds pass across the stars overhead, I wouldn't have understood it. The next day, when I went back to that same spot to watch the stars without her, I hopelessly wept, though trying not to let my voice be heard. I cursed her for leaving me behind; I couldn't understand why she had to die; I couldn't comprehend what purpose her death could have served. Now, I am strong enough to look at those stars in that spot without shedding any tears.

I know that this is how it had to be, it was fate. Those events, her birth, her life, and her death, they weren't without meaning.

It wasn't anything big, nor was it something expected to happen. Her death was actually rather anticlimactic and befitting of her and her personality. She didn't die a hero (though, that's how she probably would have preferred it), nor did she die a victim. It was a very simple, very casual accident that could have happened to anyone at all.

She was a fairly shy yet charismatic woman, as contradictory as that may sound. She often wore heels, tall high heeled shoes; she loved them and somehow never seemed to trip or stumble, a well balanced woman. She was a teacher at the local university. She wasn't particularly athletic, a bit over weight, to tell the truth; and she would always use the elevator, as many people do. She seemed nothing out of the ordinary. She worried unnecessarily over her looks and would diet on and off constantly. Even though she was overweight and sometimes had a troubled wrinkle on her brow, she was still a very beautiful, I might even say, a majestic woman. She had a natural glow to her that would attract people, like moth to a flame; as cliché as that sounds, there is no greater truth that I can think of. After all, I too was drawn in by that glow. The glow of her sun kissed skin, her vibrant blue eyes, and golden locks; but stronger than those, was the glow of her heart.

She was twenty-eight years old and had a foul relationship with her parents; the reasons are unknown to me, she never said anything more than that despite how I pressed her. Her younger brother, Matthew, was married to her best friend of five years with two children between them. After the two of them had divorced, her brother, having nowhere else to go, moved in with her. She and her friend continued to maintain a healthy friendship despite that separation.

Her nephews are a year apart from one another and still visit their father every other weekend. She would often speak of them fondly with a gentle smile on her lips. She showed great ardor to the people she loved, and would immaturely ignore those that she disliked. She was jealous and had a temper, but still, she was kind. Despite her lack of eloquence, she was somehow an amazing speaker and shined the brightest during the lectures that she gave at the college.

Even though she was twenty-eight, she was single and always had been. Though she hated admitting it, she was picky and shallow in every sense of the word. She once told me, "I want to get married, but I'm not suited for it. I want a man who will love me and only me, a man who is handsome, smart, kind, and athletic; the perfect man. How can I be satisfied with anything less? But, I'm not sure that sort of man would be satisfied with me." Hearing her say that, I realized just how superficial, self conscious, and fragile she was. I loved her, her imperfections; I loved her everything. I still do.

It was a rainy March day, only a week away from her twenty-ninth birthday. Once again, she was feeling insecure and was dieting. For the first time in a long while she was experimenting with exercising along with her dieting.

On her way up the stairs, to a lecture hall on the fourth floor, her wet hundred dollar heels slipped beneath her. The stair case was empty and the sound of her body as it toppled and cracked against the linoleum stairs seemed to echo into an air of nothingness; at least, that's how I imagined it.

That woman, who was both rather shy and charismatic, who lacked elegance but shined brighter than the most aristocratic women, the woman who cared so much about the way she looked and was so picky about the way others looked, the woman I had fallen so deeply for; the bone of her neck protruding through the skin, the echo of her fall resounding off of the walls, and the heels she loved broken and wet, she was dead. She had died alone in an empty stair well.

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><p>Reviews are always loved.<p> 


	2. His Back

**Pairing:** England/Fem!America

**Warnings:** Character death, human AU, student Arthur, teacher Fem!erica, no dialogue, back fetish.

This AU is completely based off of my own head-canon, so it may seem a little OOC (especially on Fem!erica's part, she's a little more shy and insecure).

There will be three short chapters, the POV switching with each one. This one is Fem!erica's POV.

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><p><em><strong>Chapter Two: His Back<strong>_

I don't know his name or his face, nor do I know his voice or his past. What I do know is that I love him, more than anything or anyone else; even without a name or a face, he is the perfect man.

It all started in the summer one year ago. Every day I would wait at the bus stop on my way home from the university and as I boarded I would look to the left and see his back.

He's not terribly tall, taller than myself by maybe a couple inches with dark blond hair and a broad back.

His shoulders would slump forward slightly and even though he would always wear a suit, one could easily tell that he was somewhat muscular. His back was large, strong, yet as it slumped, seemingly further and further down each day, I could tell that he was a sorrowful man. Each day I watched him until my stop came, hoping for a glimpse of his face, and each day I left without seeing it or speaking to him.

I've fallen in love with his strong, broad, sad back.

When I first saw him I had just turned twenty-eight, I am now nearly twenty-nine years old. I am an Art professor at the local college and I have never once had a boyfriend. It's not that I don't want one, but no one I like has ever asked me. I was asked out once in the eighth grade, but he only wanted a date for the homecoming dance. Any girl would have been alright, it wasn't as though he actually liked me, and so I turned him down. Since then I've been approached by two different men, but neither of them were very attractive and both of them were cursed with bad hygiene. I'm not sure I would call myself shallow; I just have certain standards that I believe should be met.

It's a new semester and I'm teaching an Anatomy Art class. There is one student in particular that catches my eye straight away as he enters the room. He's tall with short sandy hair and broad shoulders. He's an eighteen year old boy with emerald, poignant looking eyes and a slender, attractive face. I look to the attendance sheet and pick out his name, I've not yet been told that this is his name, but I feel as though it must be. As I take attendance I can feel my heart racing in anticipation as I wait for the boy to respond. Arthur Kirkland. I watch as he raises his hand, his voice sounds low and sensual as he responds a simple "here."

Once again, I board the bus heading home from class and once again I watch the man standing nearly ten feet away and to the left of me, his shoulders aren't slumped over today. His back seems happier; I can't help but wonder why.

Class has ended and Arthur approaches me as I leave the building. For the first time in a long time, I walk past the bus stop. Arthur and I continue walking. We end up walking along an old path that leads to an unused park. I talk to him about myself and my family, about my love of shoes and loveless life. I don't know why I'm being so open, perhaps it's simply because he's easy to talk to. He nods and smiles as he listens. It's now become routine. Whenever I feel insecure, or depressed, or if I just feel like talking a bit about a wonderful idea or dream that I've had, I invite Arthur out to dinner and afterward we go down to the park and chat under the stars. Though, I only ever seem to talk about myself, all I know about Arthur is his name and that he's a Pre-Med major with two minors, one in Art and one in Child Care.

Each time we meet, I leave first and he follows silently behind me. I wonder how my back looks to him, does it look content? I'd like to think it would.

I can't say whether or not it's an appropriate teacher/student relationship; we aren't lovers, but we aren't just student and teacher either. If anything, I'd call him my best friend. I suppose I might even be conceited enough to think he might view me in the same way, since we started chatting his electric green eyes seem much less solemn and his face all the more charming.

Something about him seems familiar, as though he isn't just a student or a friend, as though I've met him somewhere before. For the first time, I watch him as he leaves the class room, his back looks large, strong, and broad…I'd recognize it anywhere.

The next day, the rain pours down and the streets are terribly wet. I must see Arthur. I have to ask him about the man on the bus, I have to know if they are the same person, but in my heart I already know the answer. I want to hear it directly from him. I've dressed for the occasion, I know that he must be the man I've admired and loved for the past year. Even if we are student and teacher, even if there is a ten year age difference, my feelings won't change. I stop in the lobby and look myself over in my hand mirror. My makeup is flawless, my dress was somehow saved from getting too wet, and my shoes are perfectly un-scuffed heels, bought brand new for today. A woman should look her best on the day she confesses. I feel as though I can't lose, as though I know he feels the same. I can't help but look forward to the future.

I must see him. I rush towards the stairs; I'm working hard to lose weight, and haven't used the elevator for a few days now, despite my class being on the fourth floor. As I hurriedly make my way up, I can feel my heart thundering in my breast. Soon, I can live a new life, a life with the man that has the perfect back.

I feel my feet slip under me just as I see the door that leads to the fourth floor from the stair well. Before I realize what's happening, I no longer have a future and my only thought as I slide into an endless abyss is how warm his back might have felt, and how cold my own body feels now.


	3. To The Future

**Pairing:** England/Fem!America

**Warnings:** Character death, human AU, student Arthur, teacher Fem!erica, no dialogue.

This AU is completely based off of my own head-canon, so it may seem a little OOC (especially on Fem!erica's part, she's a little more shy and insecure).

This is the last chapter. This one is Arthur's POV.

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><p><strong><em><span>Chapter Three: To the Future<span>_**

I'm not sure she ever really knew me. We spoke every once in awhile, she confided in me when I told her I'd happily listen. But, I always felt as though she was seeing someone or something else in me whenever she looked my way, perhaps as though she were seeing through my very soul. I'm not sure how to describe the feeling.

I never told her how I felt, nor did she ever express how she thought of me. I believed that I had all the time in the world to let our relationship grow naturally without having to confess my emotions to her. If I'd known it was her fate to die so soon then I would not have held back so much or have been so cautious of my actions and words.

As I entered the college it was clear to me that there had been an accident. I watched as a body was covered and rolled out on a stretcher. I listened as the police spoke with one of the other teachers; it's possible that it was the teacher who had found the body, to this day, I'm unsure.

As I heard the name of the deceased woman pronounced, my chest seemed to throb painfully with every syllable. Breathing became difficult and agonizing. I could feel my legs moving of their own accord. My breath had become ragged as I rushed towards the stretcher, curls of flaxen hair peeked passed the white sheet and wisped over the edge of the stretcher. Ignoring the shouts of the police officer and the EMT I promptly lifted the cover, praying that I'd heard wrong. As I stared at her lifeless face, cerulean eyes hidden behind closed eyelids, I could feel the blood rush away from my own. I heard a sorrowful cry, though at the time I did not recognize it as my own. Never before had I experienced such an intense tremor.

The woman I loved was gone.

I walked along a worn path in a daze. We'd frequently walk this path together. I came to the park where we would talk about her insecurities and doubts. The park was old and unused, for safety reasons. So, it was the perfect place to chat as no one else was ever there, aside from perhaps the occasional daring teenage couple looking to get off in a public place.

The stars were clearly visible from this old park, though they could rarely be seen anywhere else in the city. For many nights after her death I toddled along that path, looked up at those stars and wept. I cannot even begin to count the number among numbers of times I'd contemplated taking my life under those stars. Knowing that she was up there waiting for me was the only thing that stopped me. I knew she would scold me if I did. She was nothing if not pro life. Still, without her my life seemed bleak and meaningless.

I later visited her home and offered my condolences to her brother. He smiled as he spoke to me about their family. After her death, their parents who apparently had kept a distance and always appeared to care more about their jobs than their children, confessed many regrets and began to spend more time with the family. Their father gave up on a promotion so that he would have more time and could get to know more about his grandchildren.

As I walk down this worn path, I smile as I think her death was not meaningless. If she had not died, her parents would not have regretted the way they had lived their lives up until now. Her nephews would not have known their grandparents.

I look at the stars, and for the first time in a long time, I don't cry. I sit on the swing, ignoring the creak that the rusted chains make, and take a long drag from my cigarette, followed by a shallow drink from my bottle of Bacardi. I smile as I think about her fondly. She was everything to me, and I lost her. But, I feel as though I can go on living without her. Her life taught me to love, and her death taught me the meaning behind life and death. She is a woman who I will never forget.

As I saunter home from the park I feel as though a weight has been lifted from my chest and shoulders. I feel stronger and I look forward to the future. I close my eyes as I walk and take a deep breath. My life has meaning, and I'm sure my death will too, just as everyone else's does. I can hear a rumble but I don't pay it any mind. Perhaps the drink has caused my lack of concern over my surroundings, but I could care less about that either. All that matters is the future that waits for me.

The next day my family sobs as they look down at my body that lies quietly on a stretcher, the sheet drawn back just enough for them to see my face and identify me to the authorities.

After an autopsy, it is found that the cause of death was head trauma. The papers printed the story of a man who was intoxicated and had wandered and stopped in the middle of the street. After being hit by a truck he was sent to the hospital where, due to excessive bleeding in his skull and inflammation of his brain, his heart ceased to beat.

As my spirit roves among the stars, I smile; knowing that though I was looking forward to the future, though I was not ready to die, both my life and my death had meaning. Someone, somewhere, will find meaning in it, of this I am sure.


End file.
